(I’ve pulled this story in order to spiffy it up and submit it to literary journals. I’ll let you know when and where it gets published.)
A late-night and somewhat silly entry for today’s 500 Club over at The Parking Lot Confessional. I chose the second prompt (“If I could just get her to say it, this would all go away”), modifying it slightly. I used the Write or Die 2.0 software to crank out 500 words in 20 minutes and …
Dara never liked the color red. But red — in this case “Big Apple Red” — grabs attention. That’s why guys drive red sports cars, right? For the attention.
Marsha checked the time before pulling out the ironing board from behind the dryer. Should be just enough time to press the wrinkles from her skirt and dry her hair before he arrived at six. The legs of the board caught on some cords around the back of the machine. She jiggled the board and tugged until the board moved free. Lights were still on. No sparks, either. All good.
Amber wakes every day at eight with the covers off and the sun draping swaths of light across her skin. She lies still, her eyes taking in the morning but not really seeing. Not yet